


Silver Spectacles and the Mystery of Thomas Shelby

by CidyKitty



Category: Peaky Blinders, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gangsters, Gen, Organized Crime, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Protectiveness, Secret Children, Unplanned Pregnancy, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-01 03:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CidyKitty/pseuds/CidyKitty
Summary: Thomasin knew a few things for certain. First, she was a 10 and a half year old amateur detective. Second, a fatherless, Motherless girl. Third, aunt Kitty makes the best potato bread. And Lastly, that Thomas Shelby was the biggest mystery she was going to solve in her career.Or,Greta Jurossi has a child before she passed and now that child is in Small Heath causing our characters all types of problems as she tries to navigate her way through her 10 year old life.





	1. 10

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters. 
> 
> Thomasin Jurossi is 10. An amateur detective. A fatherless girl. All of these things will soon come together in Small Heath.

**Thomasin **

**Small Heath**

Thomasin did not make the best detective. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her aunt Kitty just said that it was because she was so young; that when she got bigger there would be no doubt that she would be the best detective in town, all she needed to do was practice. Which was what sent her on this particular mission. They had arrived in Small Heath only a short four days ago.

Sure – she would miss the country, but there would be a lot more mysteries here, she was promised. Plus, having Aunt Kitty in the house after Nan had passed was just cruel. So they sold the old country house, packing up shop and rode into Small Heath on horse and carriage. As much of their belongings as they could fit. While there were mysteries in the air, for the most part, there was just smoke and the scent of coal and people needing to take baths. She couldn’t imagine the stories Aunt Kitty told her about growing up here after seeing how much she loved the country. Birmingham was dirty, with very little room for patches of grass or goats or fluffy sheep. Aunt Kitty claims that she and Mama had run in the streets with the boys, rode horses and learned to bake their famous potato bread.

The potato bread is another reason they are here, because there was a small storefront with an even smaller apartment above it, just big enough to fit her, Aunt Kitty and Aunt Mable, who of course wasn’t her real Aunt but she would always be called Aunt. Nan had left them enough money to leave the country and start their small business and attend to, what Thomasin is calling the final reason for them moving, and the greatest mystery of them all. For the last month of Nan’s life on earth she had been keen about some kind of _‘unfinished business’_ which was explained to her as something that had been started, that was never finished – like most of her art projects with her colored wax.

Aunt Kitty says that their unfinished business is in Small Heath, so here they were.

It was more work than they thought it would be to move, they had lost a lot of items and while Aunt Kitty and Mable were busy setting up the shop, painting walls and making signs, they had sent Thomasin out for her first mission in Small Heath, or rather, they had spoken too loudly about a lost shipment of flour and Thomasin took it upon herself to find the wayward baking goods and return them to their proper home.

She had escaped out of her two bedroom window, wheeled around her push wagon and started down the street, Aunt’s none the wiser. She must have looked strange, in her yellow dress and green coat, big black rain boots on her little feet and her hair was down her back, as the ladies had not had any time to do her hair for the last couple of days, she was dragging her wagon. She had asked a woman sweeping her stoop for directions to the docks – where Mable had said their flour must have been lost – and headed that way once she was pointed in the direction.

She reveled in being outside. As a ten year old who was used to the freedom of 35 acres of farm to run freely being cooped up in their tiny two bedroom apartment was a form of torture. She had spent the better part of four days peeling wall paper, unpacking her meager belongings, polishing her detectives kit and asking questions about Small Heath that only led to questionable answers. She bound down the street, ignoring the stares and glancing that she was getting. She had packed light, just her bag slung over her back with a few of her items of detection.

A cracked hand looking glass, a small fold knife, a pad of paper and a small lead pencil. Those were all she had at the moment, but they had proven to be enough. It had helped her find Mrs. Hearth's lost pig, and more than a few strange goingson at the farm like the neighborhood boys stealing their herbs. On her pad of paper she was slowly drawing a map of Small Heath, she would soon try to explore all its alleys and crevices.

The docks were actually canals, with long canal boats resting against the edge. There was a large warehouse behind it, workers carrying crates and boxes, she could almost be 100% assured that one of them was her flour. So she headed that way. She was headed toward the heavy shed when a person stepped into her way.

“’scuse me?” There was a tall, severe looking man in front of her.

“Where are you from?”

“Country.” She said, she eyed the man through her thin silver spectacles that rested on her nose. She had needed them since she learned to walk, and while she wasn’t the biggest fan of her spectacles, her Nan always told her that she would look quite the regal young woman one day, and that her spectacles did not keep her from looking down her nose at others.

“No I meant where is your ma’m?” He had a bit of a thick accent.

“Dead. I came looking for flour, have you seen any?” She asked him. Placing her free hand on her hip, the other still holding the handle of the wagon.

“Flowers?” His eye brows were doing wacky things on his face.

“_Flour_. You know, stuff you make biscuits with.”

“Does this look like a shop to you?” He asked her, toothpick in his mouth. She glanced about, there were men working, lugging boxes but there were other things, a few crates full of open cigarette cases and the like.

“A bit. “ She admitted. “This is where the flour is suppose to be, you see? We got the potatoes, and the sugar, but no flour.” She said.

“It was shipped here?” He asked. Eye brows crunching together.

“yes.” “From where?”

“Dunno. Some shop somewhere. The flour should be here. We need it to make the bread” She said. She shrugged thin shoulders under her green coat. 

“Well…. Come on then.” He led her inside the big warehouse. “The only type of flour we got this week would be here, if this is what you’re looking for it will be in here somewhere.” He told her. She thought for a moment he was going to leave her alone, instead, he propped himself up on a beam and watched as she ruffled around.

“You supposed to be out here?” He asked, replacing the toothpick with a cigarette.

“I’m not – _not_ – supposed to be here. Besides, we need the flour.” She said. She peaked in between the wooden slates and found a familiar looking brown sack. Flour.

“This one.” She pointed. He huffed on his cigarette.

“What about it.”

“Flour is in here.” She said. He was looking at her oddly. She pushed her spectacles up her sloped nose.

“What are you wantin’ me to do with it?” He asked her.

“Help me open it of course.” She gave her foot a little stomp. He seemed to be contemplating his options, he shrugged and moved forward. He pulled a crowbar away from the wall and busted open the crate. She shoved past him and began to load the flour onto the wagon. It would be a long walk home.

“Say.. who are you here with?”

“M’by myself obviously.” She said, loading a second bag of flour.

“I mean here in Small Heath.” He said, sounding relatively exhausted as adults tended to be around her.

“My Aunt Kitty and my Aunt Mable.” She said.

“Kitty… Kitty… Kitty Jurossi?” He asked, cigarette flopping from his mouth. Suddenly he was squinting at her. She blew strands of hair above her forehead, and rested both hands on her hips.

“That’d be her. Do you know me aunt?” She asked him. Eyeing him suspiciously. They had been sparing about leaving the apartment in the days they had been there. Aunt Kitty had mentioned something about needing to settled before _‘dust was kicked up’_ – they had been like that a lot recently. Saying things that didn’t quite make sense, or at least, Thomasin hadn’t been privy too.

“you know you could start a fire.” She pointed down at his cigarette smoldering in the hay at their feet. He stepped on it with his boot.

“Kitty Jurossi is your aunt?” He said,

“So that would make Greta Jurossi your ma’m.” He said with a tone that sounded relatively final. “I knew your family yeah, good people here in town. How is your aunt?”

“Well – Me Nan died, so she moved here. She also cut her hair, Auntie Mable says that it could be a midlife crisis.” She laid her fourth bag of flour in the wagon.

“I don’t remember a Mable.”

“Mable aint like us but shes me aunt.” She said, sweat making her spectacles ride down her nose like a carriage on the loose. She stopped to adjust them again.

“Kitty Jurossi, back in Small Heath. I’m amazed. Your Mam was a good woman. Sweet on one of my nephews, well – they were sweet on each other. Much less of a bite than your Kitty.” She was about to ask him to tell her more when they where interrupted. There were two tall men standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Watching her and the unknown man converse over sacks of flour. They were both smartly dressed. The taller man had a moustache, and he was in a grey suit with a golden pocket watch. The other man was in a dark suit, almost black, with a silver pocket watch and an over jacket that was lined with fur. They certainly didn’t look like they belonged in this shed.

“Charlie. You’ve a guest?” The shorter of the men asked, he had a cigarette balanced between his lips, she wrinkled her nose.

“Girl getting flour for her aunt, you need something Tommy?” He asked. Thomasin perked.

“That’s my name!” She chirped. All the men turned to her. She didn’t shy away. She had always been a loud and slightly overbearing child as her Nan would put it, but it was always seen as endearing.

“S’cuse?” The man, Charlie, asked.

“My name is also Tommy.”

“A little girl named Tommy?”

“Thomasin.” She corrected. “Aunt Kitty calls me Tommy. Like a boy.” She sniffed. “_T H O M A S I N_” she spelled out proudly.

“I got that.” Now Charlie was looking at her strangely.

“Eh Tommy.” He called over to the man in the dark suit, who stepped forward, cold eyes glazed over.

“This over here is Tommy …. Jurossi…”

“Like Greta Jurossi?” The man in the grey suit asked.

“Exactly. Thomas Shelby.. This is Thomasin Jurossi.” She held her small hand out for a shake, like a proper detective. The man was looking at her with an odd look, eyes frosted over he was squinting down at her.

“How old are you.”

“Ten and a half.” She said, smartly. She had been keeping track. Nan always let her celebrate her half birthday.

“When is your birthday?” He asked. She arched her brows at him.

“When is yours?” She asked smartly back.

He gave a little laugh. It was more like a huff out of his nose, but a laugh all the same. 

“What are you doing around here?”

“Aunt Kitty said that the flour was missing from the shipman. So I came to get it.” She gestured to her wagon.

“Hows about this sweetheart, I get one of these men to load up your flour and take it to your shop?” He wasn’t quite leaning down to her, but he was trying to make sure, in some odd way that she knew he was trying to be on her level.

“Okay.. What do I have to do?” Nan always said, on their walks when they were collecting acorns, wheat and lavender that you could never trust anyone to just do the right thing, to strive to be that person. That her mother, even in her last moments, was only thinking of someone else. But that people in the world were not like that, they wanted for themselves.

“I just want you to tell your Aunt Kitty, that Thomas Shelby said hello.”

Later when she had gotten home and had escaped get wracked around the ankles for escaping the house, they ate dinner at their small table. A loaf of potato bread, some roast meat and carrots. Thomasin remembered the message. As she relayed the message to her aunts and shoved a piece of roast into her mouth she was too occupied with soaking up the juices with her bread to see the worried looks that were passed between Mable and Kitty, the way that Kitty went pale and Mable gripped her hand.

Giving it a delicate, reassuring kiss. She missed Mable mouthing ‘everything will be okay’ at Kitty, and Kitty looking worriedly over at Thomasin who was pressing the edges of her bread into her gravy with freshly cleaned hands.

Later still, when Thomasin was being scrubbed in the tub by Aunt Mable and her hair was being run through with the rough brush, some mile away Thomas Shelby was sitting on his bed at his Aunt Polly’s house. Opium pipe on the bed next to him, unused as he read the letter he had received just a week before, he hadn’t shared it with his family because God only knew what Pol would do when she learned, the crooked and shaky hand writing of a sick old woman reflected back on him as he thought of a girl in a yellow dress in black boots with a sack of flour in her arms and round silver spectacles on her face.

_Dear Thomas,_

_I know it’s been a long time since we have had any correspondence so I’ll make it brief. First, congratulations on your medals from the war, I always knew you were a brave young man, and I’m glad you made it back in once piece – try to stay that way, I hear you’re getting ambitious._

_ As you know, Greta passed away 7 months after you left for France, it has been an uphill battle since then. Kitty held on as best she could, but we moved to the country house to get away. You know the one, you and Greta used to sneak to when you thought I didn’t know? She missed you dearly, but ultimately died a happy woman, she was able to see the face of her baby for just a few moments. _

_The night of her birth was hard for all of us, we knew Greta wouldn’t make it the week, maybe not even the day, but she powered through. The baby was beautiful and continues to be more beautiful every day. I’m not telling you this to break your heart as you should be able to figure out that the child in question is yours, I believe always that you were Greta’s first and last, my lovely girl. _

_My time on this earth is not long. The doctor says that the sickness should be the end of me by the end of a seasons time. Kitty will be left alone with the little girl. She doesn’t know I’m writing you yet, I’ll tell her in the hours before I’m long gone, as you know her temper._

_ Your little girl is smart, nearly blind, clever and deserves the love from both sides of her family. I don’t want her to want for anything, least of all love. If something were to happen to Kitty I would want her to have a home within you._

_ I know this is all sudden, but I also know you – Thomas – a man who will do the right thing. This might be hard at first, but get to know her, and all her oddities and I think you’ll find that loving will come along the way. Greta loved you, and you loved her, now love what you created together. After I go I will be encouraging Kitty to reach out to you, I hope you hear from her._

_ Best of luck with my girl - and you'll need it, _

_ And all the love, _

_Juliette Jurossi._


	2. Chapter Two

Kitty fumbled with her mug as she turned the corner, startled but not surprised – at the tall, leaning figure before her alit only with the orange tip of a cigarette. She gripped her chest and then let go, giving him a sigh. 

“What? You trying to kill me now?” She asked him turning to the kettle to get it going, she poured enough water for two cups, if Shelby didn’t want any than Mable could have a cup herself. 

“Good to see you too Kitty.” He drew, his voice was deeper than last she heard it but of course it was, he was taller, thicker somehow too – added muscle from the war more likely. 

“If you were wanting pleasantries you could have knocked on the door instead of broken in, which how did you do that?” She gave him a side eye. The orange tip of the cigarette gave him away again as his mouth a lit with a crooked kind of smile. 

“Picked the lock, the way your mum taught me.” 

Kitty rolled her eyes, damning that woman. 

“I don’t suppose you’re just here for breakfast.” She said, turning to him. She crossed her arms across her chest, night gown bunched up under her arms. 

“If I was would you make me a place at your table?” He seemed more than comfortable in the home, not looking around as if to see what is around, but more like he already knew. 

“Oh please, you know I would Thomas.” She said. The kettle started to go off and she made herself tea, distracting herself form the fact that he had probably already walked around the house – checked the rooms, exits and windows. All while they had laid sleeping. Though she should expect no less from him. 

“Thomas.” He repeated his own name, scoffed a bit. “there was a time you just call me Tommy.” 

“There was a time you just knock on my door.” She prepared her tea how she liked it, dark with sugar. And poured him a cup, offered no sugar or cream because she knew he wouldn’t take it. He took the cigarette out, let it rest between his fingers as he took a sip of the tea. She snatched the smoke from his hand, brought it too her lips despite her wrinkled nose. 

Her lungs instantly protested. As she sputtered and laughed he took the cigarette from her. 

“Christ Almighty Tommy those things will kill you.” He put the cigarette out and gave her a rare smile. It was just a slight tilting of the lips, but it was there. He placed the half burnt cigarette back into his silver case and leaned against the counter. For a moment they were just Kitty and Tommy, Tommy and Kitty who used to play by the cut and tell scary stories and go to the fair with his brothers and Greta and come back dirty and smelling like horse. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” 

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, rotating her neck from side to side. She was beginning to miss working with dough every day, she was feeling herself weaken every morning that she wasn’t kneading the tough dough. 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She said, it was the truth. He deserved that now. 

“Every time I thought about it, I look at that little girl and knew what you were doing down here and never knew if it was ever going to be the right time.” She admitted. “She stopped askin’ about a Da’ some years ago anyway. Too distracted with her stories, ponies and mysteries.” 

“Mysteries?” He was actively drinking his tea now. She wondered when the last time Tommy Shelby drank anything that wasn’t whiskey was. 

“She fancies herself a detective. Carries around a little kit, we used to send her on ‘mysteries’ ya know, go and hide a handkerchief or something.. let her follow the clues to go and get it. Her Nan said it was good for her, gave her dreams, made her smart.” 

“And the glasses?” He asked. She snorted. She could easily be the most ridiculous looking child if she wasn’t so cute. In all her school photos they joked she looked a bit like a little old lady, the spectacles so big on her pixie face. 

“Been nearly blind as a bat since birth. She was so early that is. Nan wasn’t sure she would make it, she was all blue and small – little eyes glazed over. We found out she would have a hard time seeing when she started to crawl you know, she was always running into things, tables and the like – shes a little embarrassed by them but we tell her she looks quite the respectable young lady.” 

“She haggled Charlie in the yard to get him to help her find flour, went down there by herself, little hand written map.” Tommy said, voice trailing off in the distance. 

“Yeah, she told us.” She said. 

“She get a tap for that?” Kitty snorted. 

“Girl has almost never had a tap in her life. Her Nan would chop off her hand before she laid to that girls behind. Remember that wooden spoon Mum had? Would get us with it if we came in with dirty hands?” They shared another small smile.

“So how do we do this?” 

It came after moments of silence. 

“We could wait for her to come down and just tell her Tommy, she’ll have questions but I think she’ll understand. Unless you want nothing to do with her, and then I keep her away from you and you stay away from her. But if you choose that last option, you don’t get to change your mind.” 

“You said she likes mysteries.” He said, setting his cup of tea down on the counter. “Lets give her the biggest one yet.”   
Kitty smirked. 

“Lets set a wager.” 

Tommy cocked a brow. 

“I say less than two weeks, she has you figured out.”   
“I give her a month, I’m not always around you know.”   
“But Polly is, and Finn and Arthur and John and his brood.. she’ll have you made. If I win, next pair of spectacles is on you.”   
“And if you lose?”  
“Next pair is on me.”   
He spat in his palm.   
They shook on it. 

Polly sometimes felt like she was some kind of separate universe. When she took over responsibility of the Shelby children she never imagined that she would have this many grey hairs by now. 

She stood, newspaper balled in one first as Tommy brought a spoon full of sweetened porridge to his lips, a steaming cup of pressed coffee next to his elbow. There was a stack of pounds on the table that he had given her, with instructions that this coming Sunday she was making a wellington for Kitty Jurossi, her bakery assistant and apparently – Tommy’s daughter. 

Who she was just told about, over sweet porridge and coffee like they were talking about the weather. She didn’t know whether to whack him around the head or put her head down and cry, as if this family needed another stressor. Tommy was getting ready to try to make a move to London, that barmaid girl had left him in shambles and now this. Some little girl. Greta Jurossi – a little brunette who used to run the streets with the boys. She had passed while Tommy was in the war, and apparently left something behind. 

“So you’re telling me..”

“Yes.” Tommy said. 

“That down the street, in that little bakery..”

“Yes.” He said, not looking up from the paper. 

“You have a child. A real Tommy, another one.” 

“Well, no. Shes a girl child.” He said. 

Before Polly could properly process that, picturing what Tommy looked like as a little boy – except as a little girl. Arthur came thundering down the stairs. He was rubbing his face, stubble taking up quite a bit of it, he pulled a couple of pieces of bread apart and spread some jam on it. 

“What girl child are we talking about?” He asked, he smelled like old whiskey. Polly wrinkled her nose in disapproval.   
“Tommy’s.” 

“Tommy has himself a new girl?” Arthur smirked into Tommy’s cup of coffee, which he had snatched away. 

“Something like that.” Polly said, her mind still spinning. 

“Too early for riddles.” Arthur complained. Before Polly could hit him over the head with the newspaper or throw something at Tommy or even faint, the door slammed open and the sound of tiny feet came rushing in, followed by Esme shouting, her large belly coming first and then her, with her face twisted. John’s kids rummaged through the kitchen as John took the coffee cup from Arthur. 

“What riddle?” He asked. 

Polly felt a headache coming on. 

Tommy appeared to be gathering himself to leave, checking his pocket watch, straightening his shirt sleeves to put his jacket on. 

“Tommy has a new girl.” 

“That’s not what I said – “

“Oi, Tommy – I knew it! Something different was about you.” 

“No, that’s not what I said Arthur – “’ Polly tried to correct. 

“What do you mean Pol?” Esme asked, cuffing John Jr. around the head as he snatched bread from his sister.   
“There is a new girl – “ John was saying, ignoring his wife. 

“No, not a woman – a literal child.” Polly finally said. Setting her head down into her palms and rubbing at her eyes, knowing that her eye make up was coming off with it. 

“Tommy… you’re having a baby, it ain’t Lizzie’s is it?” Esme said, chewing on a piece of bread, looking at him speculatively. 

Thomas didn’t answer her, not that Polly expected him too. 

“No this must be about the ‘lil one in the spectacles.” Arthur said, spreading jam on bread. Everyone looked at him except for Tommy, who was lighting a cigarette. 

“You know the girl?” Polly said, incredulous. It was never a good sign when Arthur was aware of a decision before Polly.   
“Yeah, saw her in Charlie’s dock – looking for some flour. Looked like a little girl Tommy, with big spectacles on her face. Never seen anything like it.” Arthur said, his tone a bit too joyful for the information that he was passing out. It must be the opium. Or the rum. 

“Well.” Thomas said, standing. “Now that the air is clear, I’m going to take myself down to the Garrison, we have business to talk about. Once you’re all done gossiping, join me.” 

Polly rubbed her eyes, as if life wasn’t complicated enough around the Shelby’s. Thomas didn’t give her any instruction except for a dinner she was supposed to be making like she was the help or something. So instead, as the men filed out to do their business and Esme took to walking the kids down to the schoolhouse for studying, Polly grabbed her bag – opened the door, lit her cigarette and headed down the road, to a bakery that was setting up shop on the corner. 

She had her own investigating to do. And a wellington to buy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like our lil Tommy has a mystery to solve.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I would love your opinions.


End file.
